


Can't Help Falling In Love **Orphaned**

by Neight



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:18:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neight/pseuds/Neight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced across the country to attend a new school in a new town with people he's never met and doesn't really want to, Armin isn't received well, if he's received at all. It's either the cold shoulder or being pushed into lockers, or, at least it is until a vicious teacher who has it out for new students announces everyone's grades to the class. With the revelation of his capabilities in dealing with calculus, he's suddenly surrounded by people tugging him in all directions, but most prominent is the guidance counsellor, who pushes him to become a peer tutor.<br/>Defining fear wasn't difficult for Armin, but at the top of his list were Reiner Braun and falling in love, which are becoming one and the same far too fast for his taste.<br/>Alone and scared with no where to turn, he can only hope to stay silent.</p><p> Author's note: This story has been on hold nearly two years, and will most likely stay that way. I'm sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Armin's making decisions he'd never even consider out of desperation and the need to be accepted, but he's not weighing the consequences. Only the benefits.
> 
> Also I have been made aware that the formatting is off, and I will fix this later, I'm sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so sorry. This is so dumb. I hope you guys like it okay, though. 
> 
> EDIT: Formatting semi fixed, thank you to my cousin!!

Out of the snow banks and blanketed fields reflecting the light of the headlights rose the first building. It was a drab, white washed farm house, wind battered and peeling. No lights were on, but could anyone be expected to be up at such an hour on a Monday night? Despite the lack of evidence that anyone was awake, Armin was glad for the change of scenery. For miles and miles, he’d had his forehead pressed against the passenger window, watching the uneven rise and fall of the forest that surrounded them. They’d passed seaside and farm town and long stretches of desolate, empty field on their long journey from Maine. He and his grandfather were tired and sore from their seemingly endless drive in the truck, pulling over at night to push the seats back and sleep. He was feeling a little hopeless that they’d ever reach their destination. They might die in the snow that was beginning to graze off their windshield before they saw any other signs of civilization. As if on cue, Mr. Arlert reached over and gave Armin’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, eyes still on the road. A man of few words though he was, his gestures always spoke volumes more than the sentences he composed. He seemed to always know how to comfort the younger Arlert, and often told him he was like an open book, if you only knew you were trying to read it upside down.

When the forest fell away, leaving farmland, he began to pay more attention, hoping to catch a glimpse of hungry deer perusing the ground for fallen apples under the orchard’s winterbare branches. He’d drifted off a few times, but once they passed the house, his eyes were peeled for any sign that they were approaching town.  
Finally, he was rewarded with a snow-caked sign erected at the side of the road proclaiming that they’d reached the town of Sussex, Georgia, with a population of a mere ten thousand, which to Armin was tiny coming from his hometown in Maine, heavily populated by fishermen and their families. He sighed, noting the bible verse at the bottom of the welcoming sign, though he couldn’t read it at their speed. Just as he’d feared. A church town.

When they'd finally set up makeshift shop and unpacked just enough over the coming days, their furniture finally arriving, Armin’s grandfather enrolled him at the local highschool. He was terrified. He was a good student, but he’d never been well received by his peers, too short and with just a little too much pudge. He’d never had a girlfriend, or even a best friend, save for his grandfather and a girl two grades younger who used to sit with him at lunch to eat her sandwich, and that was more polite conversation than friendship.

The following Monday, he found himself dumped in a classroom with no introduction or instruction, save the teacher’s name and a short list of reading he’d need to do. He was shoved into a desk and set to listening and taking notes. He didn’t dare ask for guidance, the students and teachers both giving him cold glares whenever he opened his mouth to ask for help, or raised his hand to ask a question. He quickly learned to muddle through, despite being late for class several times after getting lost in the halls. He spent a week or two- time flew by when you had no one to talk to- feeling helpless and alone, but Armin was tenacious, and held his ground against his unfriendly peers and the confusion he felt, finally picking back up where he had left off at his old school once they’d finished unpacking at home and he had enough time to read up. The thing Armin disliked most about this new school was not the sickeningly sweet teachers who treated him like a fifth grader, nor the rude students, but rather, the rude teachers. He had English fifth block, and Monday, slow for everyone, seemed to be ticking by agonizingly slowly with the teacher’s monotonous voice filling his ears. He’d tuned out the teacher to the point that he didn’t notice the announcement that Friday’s test results were being handed out. Rather, read out loud… Armin was first on the list, perking up at the sound of his name, and when his ninety-eight percent score was read out loud, he could feel the other students perk up as well. People began to show him more kindness, some made offers to sit with him, or for him to join their group of friends. A few people invited him to parties, which he politely declined, opting to keep his wits about him, whether it would make him friends or not. By the end of the week, he’d rotated between sitting with a girl a grade younger than him with auburn hair and a penchant for asking him if he was going to finish his lunch and a couple of siblings, obviously not blood related by the girl’s tanner skin and slanted features. 

Sasha, who obviously loved to eat, but never seemed to gain any weight, was a genuinely sweet girl, always up for a prank or adventure. They didn’t see each other very often at school, but made an effort to hang out after classes in the library, giggling at each other’s jokes behind the ruse of studying together. They were both sort of loners, which kept them close to each other, Armin often walking her home despite their drastically different routes.

Mikasa and Eren, the siblings who’d offered him a prestigious seat at their table were nice enough. They asked him for help with studying, just like many people did, but always made sure he was included in events or invited over when they scheduled movie nights. Eren and Mikasa were respectively one and two years older, than Armin, but in the same grade, having to retake the eleventh grade when they missed a majority of the year for a bad case of the mumps. Armin, though a little naïve about their intents, felt a niggling feeling tugging at his stomach that something was wrong. They made him feel included, but also disposable, and through all the movie nights and trips to the diner to meet up, he couldn’t shake it. But having few friends made him desperate to keep the ones he had, and by the middle of January, he was reluctant to slip their hold, looking forward to graduating with at least two friends in the spring of nineteen sixty three.

All in all, Armin felt truly settled in by the third week of the month. All boxes unpacked, house scrubbed spotless and set up, as well as the shop, friends made, grade perfect to a fault. Things were beginning to look up after the dreary start to this new beginning. He still missed the brush of the cool sea air and the shouting of the sailors as he walked by the pier in the morning. These things meant home to him, but slowly, the smell of sea air was being replaced by the smell of wood smoke, and the shouting by the sound of the early morning train rolling in that served as his alarm clock.

The longing he felt for his old home had left a small hole in his heart that was quickly filled up with a very different feeling when the PA system crackled to life in homeroom, and he heard his name being called by a springy secretary’s voice, beckoning him to the office. His heart raced. Absolutely pounded in his chest. The sound of his chair scraping the ground was unholy in his ears as he stood, nodding to the teacher who nodded back, and affirmed to the secretary that he was on his way. He could feel all eyes on him as he rounded the doorway, following him until he was out of sight of the window. He’d never been called to the office before. He’d never felt the shame and horror of everyone watching him, suspecting him of things he could only imagine. Was he, in fact, being blamed for a crime impossible for him to commit? He had barely any time to think about it, winding up quickly in front of the office door, knocking quietly. The secretary looked up from her work, smiling as she waved him in. He cautiously opened the door and shut it as quietly as possible. Armin tried his best to give her a smile, but it came out crooked and forced. “Arlert?” she asked. When he nodded, she pointed to a door across from her desk. “Ms. Hanji would like to see you, please.”

Hearing a timid knock at the door, a tall brunette opened the door, glasses swinging on their chain around her neck. “Armin Arlert?” she asked him, and he repeated the nod, to which she waved him in. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

He took a seat, shifting in the uncomfortable plastic cushioned chair. “It’s nice to meet you, too, ma’am,” he murmured.  
“You’re not in trouble, Armin. And please, call me Hanji. I’m here for you, like a friend, not to scare you.”  
With the promise that he wasn’t in trouble, the tension hunching his shoulders visibly dissipated.  
“So, Armin, you have some of the top test results in this school. We’d like to put that to use.”  
“How so?” he asked, curiosity piqued, but caution not gone.  
“We have a number of students who will not graduate without being tutored to pass their classes. Of course, that means we need gifted students. You seem like a patient boy on top of having good grades. Do you think you would like to tutor a student?”  
He thought on it briefly. “I suppose I could.”  
“It’s an after school program. You and the student you’ll be paired with will have to work together on your own time.”  
“Can I think about it?” he asked, pondering it already. It might be fun. A good way to make friends and help out. Maybe he would even get extra credit.  
“Of course you can. Do you think you could get back to me by today after school? It’s fairly urgent that we pair tutors with students by the end of the week before the new term starts.”  
The blond paused and nodded. “I can certainly do my best.”  
Miss Hanji grinned brightly and stood from the spot she’d chosen on the arm of her desk chair, having woven around the room, oddly reminiscent of a cat as she spoke. “Thank you, Armin. You can go back to class, now.”  
As he got up, the chair sighing as the plastic seat reabsorbed the air forced out by his weight, she quickly stuck out her hand, and he shook it. “You’re welcome, ma’am.”  
“Hanji,” she corrected, standing from her perch to guide him from the small office with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’ll hear from you soon,” she reminded him once again, and he nodded, but didn’t reply, giving the secretary a small smile as he passed to leave.  


At the end of the day, Hanji, who he’d come to realize was the guidance counselor, was ecstatic to hear his yes. Her glasses bounced and fell from her hair to her nose as she jumped in a happy little dance that made him unable to hold back a smile. When she had the sense to stop and put up her glasses, she hit the intercom button on her PA microphone to tell the secretary Armin had met earlier to send another student by the name of Brown in.

When the knock signaling the other’s arrival sounded, the counselor bounced up to answer the door, Armin turning in his chair. The person who walked in was not exactly what Armin had expected. He almost immediately regretted agreeing as he looked up at the much taller, broader, older student, missing Hanji’s introduction completely. Instead of listening to her, he took note of how tan the older was, despite the wintery season, the size of his hands, which must have been twice if not three times the size of Armin’s painter’s hands. He was blond, just like Armin, but with a hint of red highlights. When he spoke, though Armin registered no words, he noted a thick southern accent affecting his deep voice. He might have been exaggerating out of fear, but he was absolutely terrified.

“Armin?”  
“Huh?” he snapped out of his thoughts when Hanji tried to get his attention, and tried to get his wits about him, looking around. The larger teen had his hand stuck out towards Armin, and blushing at having been caught in the clouds, Armin hastily shook it.  
“This is Reiner Braun. You’ll be tutoring him for the remainder of the year.”  
Finally, Reiner spoke again, the shorter actually paying attention to his words. “Nice ta meet ya,” he smiled.  
Armin gulped and forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too… I’m Armin. Arlert. Armin Arlert,” he fumbled.  
“I’m gonna be late fer work,” Reiner spoke up, dropping his hand to shrug on a thick sheepskin jacket, terribly worn. “Thanks,” he said, nodding to Armin and Hanji as he pulled a keyring from his pocket, waving with it as he turned to leave.  
Armin looked at Hanji. “I should go,” he said, mirroring Reiner’s awkward behavior, jabbing his thumb at the door.  
She waved enthusiastically, thanking him again before he could finally escape.


	2. Raised Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a little effort, even the tightest of knots loosen and untangle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have a few things to sort out overall, but here is a second chapter for this mess! Er. Rather, a first chapter.

When they finally met less formally to work out what times were good for the both of them, Armin found that Reiner, though large and intimidating, was very quiet. He spoke little, keeping to himself unless asked something. Armin tried to break the silence a few times, only to have the conversation ebb away. But he wouldn’t give up. He would hate to tutor someone he was both scared of, and unable to communicate effectively with. He decided he wouldn’t give up making conversation and cleared his throat.

“May I borrow a piece of paper?”  
The older blond leaned out of his chair, making it look as though he were going to fall, digging around his backpack for a pad of paper from which he ripped some ruled pages and handed them to Armin. “I don’t really know how ta go about this…” he admitted, “I know Miss Hanji explained it an’ all, and I know how it’s goin’ ta work, but it’s the talkin’ bit that worries me. I’m not much of a talker.”  
He had a slight drawl, a little bit of honey to soothe the husk of his voice. Armin briefly thought how terrifying a death threat would seem in such a nice voice. How it could instantly go from sweet to terrifying in the same word. The younger blinked, confused. “Well, it’s easy. When you have a question, just ask me.”  
“No, no, I get that! But talkin’ to you as a person, and not as a teacher, yanno?”  
He was even move confused now. “You actually want to talk to me? What for?” Not even Eren or Mikasa seemed to go out of their ways to talk to him, sometimes holding private conversations even in his presence.  
Reiner’s tan cheeks reddened a little, “Well, because yer goin’ out of yer way to help me out, and that makes ya someone worth talkin’ to, in my eyes. Lookin’ out for a stranger like me when ya don’t even gotta look my way? I respect and value that. I may look like a brute, but my momma raised me to be a real man.”  
Armin found himself smiling, chewing on the tip of his thumb out of habit. Reiner was being… Oddly nice. Something about that bothered him. “But you’re a jock. People like you pick on me,” he muttered, addressing his concerns.  
“People like me, maybe, but not me. If ya ever need help with that kinda stuff, you come to me, okay? It’s the Ieast can do to return the favor.”  


His thumb chewing turned to sucking on a strand of hair he’d pulled to his lips, tapping his pencil against the table rhythmically with his right hand. He could feel blood pooling in his cheeks and the familiar warm sensation of being cared for was welling in his chest. “Thank you. Really. It means a lot to me, especially here and with how I look. I’m not exactly the kind of guy you go out of your way to avoid angering. I’ve been here for less than a month, and I’ve already got someone bothering me, and her whole gang, too. She likes to call me a faggot, mostly, or trip me. Sometimes her friends will steal my books and hide them.” As soon as he said it, the warm feeling was replaced by one of shame. He shouldn’t have shared that, but after Reiner’s offer… Why not?

“Well, are ya one?”  
“Am I a what?”  
“A faggot.”  
He blushed to the roots of his hair, dropping his pencil. “N-no! She just says it because I’m small and need a haircut!”  
Reiner chuckled warmly. “What’s she look like, then?”  
“Well… She’s short. Shorter than me, and kind of round. She’s blond and always hangs out with this really, really tall guy and a shorter funny looking one.”  
The older had begun to frown as Armin spoke, crumpling the piece of paper he’d been idly doodling on. “Annie, goddammit!”  
“You know her?” he asked curiously, wondering how she could ever have caused someone so large any kind of problem.  
He grunted. “We used to date.”

Above the quiet and intimidating, Reiner was a man of his word. He talked to Annie, and she stopped messing with him for the time being. When another kid would taunt Armin or try to take his things, if Reiner was close, he would step in. If he only caught wind of it, he would address the aggressor. Armin still tried to keep it to himself when it happened, not wanting to seem too weak to take care of his own problems, nor wanting to be teased about having a jock do his dirty work. Despite his efforts, though, it quickly became an unspoken rule in the small school that you did not touch Armin Arlert.

Of course, Grandpa Arlert was more than pleased to catch wind of this news. Armin coming home without bruises or ripped notebooks was very new and a very welcome change. The younger shyly admitted the circumstances over tea one morning before he left for school, fearing his grandfather might tell him to grown up and become a man, deal with his own problems, but he didn’t. He merely smiled, nodding, and told Armin to thank his tall brawny friend.

Armin thought his grandfather might have jinxed it when someone neatly put rotting sandwiches in his locker for him to discover and have to scrub out, nearly vomiting at the smell. But beyond that, things started to look up, and school progressed in a story book fashion, clean and neat and orderly. Get up, get dressed, share tea with grandpa and be on his way. But as soon as Armin opened the door the next morning, his eyes were assaulted by streets, sidewalk and path to his door all blanketed in snow, the vile stuff still falling. He was used to weather where you blinked and it changed, but still, he was disappointed in having to wade through it to school, even if he was used to much, much more snow. By the time he was on the main road, he was freezing, pantlegs soaked by passing cars, mittens having been dropped at least once in the slush. He was frustrated beyond all reason and was ready to scream when a truck pulled up next to him. When the window was rolled down, however, he was surprised to see Reiner behind the wheel. The truck rumbled loudly, and others passed, deafening Armin to Reiner’s words.

“What?!”  
“I said did you want a lift?”  
Shocked, Armin nodded hesitantly.  
“Well, then, come on, get in! We haven’t got all day!”  
Snapped into action by the driver’s words, he scurried around the truck, nearly slipping in the slush as he tried to get in the other side, a passing car honking loud and long at him for momentarily blocking traffic, which made him jump.  
Reiner was chuckling when Armin finally got seated and put on his seatbelt, shaking his head. “Why’re ya botherin’ with that?”  
“Because if the roads are too bad, and we crash, I don’t want to die.”  
The older just laughed at him again and took off to another chorus of honking horns urging him to move.

At school, they immediately parted ways after Armin had thanked him, both taking off to find their respective groups. They didn’t meet again until later that day, when after school, they met in the secret of the library to study for an upcoming test, the two of them silent and reserved as they always were around each other. They had an unspoken rule that during tutoring, no one spoke unless explanation or question was needed. Armin just watched Reiner do his work, pointing out mistakes when he made them and explaining concepts when too many things were wrong in a row. No one ever checked on the two of them, folded into a neat little pile of coats and bags between history and biography, studious and quiet to a fault.

The first time Reiner laughed, Armin thought it sounded like bells. It was so odd, seeing him wracked with silent laughter, having been shushed from somewhere in the forest of reading tables. He tried to contain his laughter, but failed, letting it consumed his whole body. Eventually, Armin was laughing too, drying the corners of his eyes where tears of mirth had formed. Trying to calm down, they both breathed slowly and relaxed a sigh at the same time, sending them into giggles again. By the end of it. Neither remembered why they had been laughing in the first place.

It was needless to say that they soon became a little louder than that first day as they both shed their timidity. It was a new kind of friendship, for Armin, at least. It was so easy going and smooth. Of course, his friendship with Sasha was easy, too, and sometimes with Eren and Mikasa, but Reiner… It was different. Jokes rolled off his tongue, talking was easy, pointing out mistakes wasn’t a capital offence. Maybe it was the premise on which they built their friendship, but no matter how you put it, Armin wound up looking forward to the thrice weekly tutoring sessions they shared in the library.

After two weeks without report from Annie and her friends, though, the small blond began to get nervous about her absence. It was almost like she was biding her time before pulling some trick. He quickly found out that that was precisely what she was doing, when after after an extremely bad day in which he was teased, got a bad test back, and was made fun of by a teacher, he opened his locker to put his books away, but they wouldn’t fit in the top portion. It was above his reach, so he stepped on the raised bottom to look up, and found a box of cinnamon hearts, neatly tucked there. He broke into a grin. He thought the only two people who knew his locker combination were Sasha and Reiner, but Sasha having a boyfriend, and Reiner not being that sort of guy, he quickly ruled them out, despite only the latter knowing how much he loved the candies. It made his day just a little bit better, especially with Valentines approaching. Finding the candy made him feel special. However, the moment was ruined as he heard someone pop their gum behind him.He turned around to find Annie, arms crossed over her chest, chawing at what might have been half a pack of bubble gum. ‘The funny looking one’, who he’d found out was actually named Jean, joined her momentarily, and the tall, lanky kid named Bertholdt was back on the perimeter of the group, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Armin stuffed the box of candy back into his locker.

“How’s it going, Armin? Those from your boyfriend?” Annie asked sweetly, smiling, gum caught momentarily between her teeth as she spoke.  
“No, they’re from a friend. But I’m doing fairly well. And yourself?” he asked, reminding himself that being civil was the easiest way out.  
“Oh, I’ve been doing just fine. Got kind of a hankering for being a little rough, lately, though,” she smirked.  
Screw being civil, Armin thought, returning her smirk. “Oh? Why don’t you ask Bertholdt for some help with that?”

Annie gave a frustrated cry and grabbed a fistful of his hair at the back of his head, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t you ever speak like that to me again, you insolent little faggot! Where’s your boyfriend to save you now?” She spit in his face, and as he gagged, trying to wipe it away, she forced him into a duck and forcefully shoved him against the locker. The cold, sharp metal edges of the door forced him to bend his shoulders to avoid being cut, making himself as small as possible in the process, which allowed him to painfully be shoved into the locker by Annie and Jean, scraping his cheek painfully on the lock bracket. He grabbed desperately at the doorframe, hoping she wasn’t about to do what he thought she might.

“No! No! Don’t!” he begged, but Annie just grinned.  
“Isn’t it only fair?”  
“No!” he repeated, but before he could say anything more, she slammed the door on his hand, which he retracted with a cry of pain, allowing her to close and lock the door fully before scampering off, Jean behind her and Bertholdt reluctantly in tow.

There was no way anyone was still in the school, except maybe the janitors. He hollered, hoping someone would hear him. After a few minutes, however, he gave up, letting his yelling subside to tears of panic. It took nearly twenty minutes for him to calm down again, and when he did, he slammed his fists on the door, calling for help. No one came. His knuckles were split and he was pretty sure he’d hurt his wrist trying to slam with the side of his fist. Palms stinging, he curled up to try and give himself more room, resting his head against the back of the locker. It seemed hopeless. He hadn’t been counting, but upon checking his watch, thankfully back lit, he found he’d been there nearly an hour. It was six o’clock. Then it was six thirty. And then he finally heard footsteps, and someone calling his name.

“I’m in here!” he began again, pounding on the doors. The sound was muffled in the small space, bouncing back from the walls to his ears. He hoped he was being heard, and was rewarded with someone pounding right back at him after a minute.  
“Armin!” Thank the dear lord. Reiner. Armin didn’t think he’d ever been happier to hear the older’s drawl, and found himself crying for the second or third time that night.  
“M-my combination!”  
“Right, Armin, stay calm,” Reiner urged, “tell me yer combo.”  
The younger teen sniffled and awkwardly wiped his eyes. “One, s-seventeen, thirty five.”  
As he’d been calling it, Reiner was dialing it in, opening the locker with a click, Armin having been pressed against the door awkwardly spilling out. Reiner quickly grabbed him, easing him out of the tight space and to his feet. Tired, sore, and relieved, Armin collapsed against him, clinging to his shirt.  
“I stopped by your house to tell you something’, and yer granpa said you were really late, so I thought I’d come an’ look for ya and maybe give ya a drive home,” he explained, tilting his chin up to examine the scrape on his cheek.  
Armin nodded, and Reiner continued. “Ya ain’t hurt too bad, are ya? She didn’t do nothin’ worse than this, did she?”  
He hadn’t even needed to ask who it was. It was obvious Annie was the only one gutsy enough to try something like this with Reiner keeping an eye on Armin. “Can ya walk? We should get you cleaned up and home so you can rest a little.  
Armin nodded this time, somehow unable to form words into a coherent sentence. He tried for a minute, but eventually gave up, just nodding again. “Home,” he agreed.  
When he’d had time to calm down, curled up with Reiner’s coat over him like a blanket in the passenger seat of his truck, he spoke up. “What did you want to tell me?”  
“I just wanted to thank you for all the help. I got an eighty four on that English test.”  
Despite the residual fear, Armin grinned. “Good!”  
His smile was catching, and Reiner grinned, too. “I wanted to repay you, but I don’t know how. Football is all I really got, but it doesn’t start for a long while yet, and it’s not anythin’ special to invite you to a game. I mean, you can come if you want, yanno? I wanted to do somethin’ nice, so you just tell me when ya need a favor, okay?”  
“I think you just repaid me,” Armin joked darkly.  
“I guess I did,” Reiner chuckled, “but that’s not the same.”  
“It’s good enough for me. We’re friends. You don’t have to repay me for anything.”  
“Thank you, Armin. It really means a lot. I’m gonna graduate because of you.”  
“It’s not a problem. I promise. Can I ask you for a favor now, though?”  
“Of course. What is it?”  
“Just keep up the good work, okay?”  
“I think I can do that,” he murmured, “ain’t very hard with you around.”  


In the quiet of the car following their conversation, Reiner began to hum along to the song on the radio. Under his voice, Elvis’ newest release to rock the world played, lulling Armin into a doze in combination with the gentle rocking of the truck as they drove across town to Armin’s small storefront home.


	3. Apologies and Passing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH I FORGOT TO UPLOAD THIS CHAPTER. ITS MISSING. IM SO SORRY.

March brought rain, washing away the snow. Soon, the occupants of the small Georgian town were free of gray skied days, and the sun lit up every corner of their busy little lives. Once the football field was drained, practice started up again for those serious about the sport. Mostly those applying for scholarships stayed on the field at least five hours a week, if not more. Reiner’s schedule quickly became busy with work, football, and working at home. Armin had discovered that he ran the family farm. He lived with his father, who was a cruel, loud man, nearly always drunk and red in the cheeks, yelling at Reiner. He was lazy, and made his son do all the work, from plowing to planting to mucking the stalls of the large plow horse Reiner had somehow acquired. Sometimes, the older Braun would disappear for weeks, going god knew where in his beat up old Chevy truck, trundling down the road out of town.  
With both of those things preoccupying his mind, the older barely had time for study sessions. He was trying desperately not to fall behind, but slowly, his raised grades were slipping, and with it, his graduation and scholarship that would put him through college, at the very least.   
It took nearly three weeks for Armin to find a solution to this dire problem. In retrospect, it was probably just a little ridiculous, but it benefitted them both in necessary and unnecessary ways. Reiner would be able to study, while Armin would learn something about the sport that occupied most of his friend’s time, finally able to understand maybe a few of his ramblings. At least that was the goal.   
The solution was for Armin to stay and watch practices after school so that when they were done, Reiner could come to Armin’s and study for an hour before heading out to be at work by dinner time. Of course, this brilliant solution came to him as school ended for the day, and he had to push his way through the halls, trying to reach the locker rooms before Reiner so he could stop him and pitch his suggestion. Of course, this led to Armin finding himself in quite the predicament, cheeks red as he tried to stammer out the words to Reiner, standing there, leaning over him in the locker room doorway, smirking, hopefully in amusement, at the younger’s flustered behavior.   
Despite his problems conveying the idea, Armin was relieved when Reiner got the gist of it, and agreed, sending him out to the bleachers to wait. It was chilly, a small wind picking up and blustering over the field. He pulled on his scarf, his hat, and his mittens, snuggling in comfortably to watch when he spotted a familiar ponytail peeking out from under the hat of the girl who’d just sat down three or four rows down from him. He pulled down his scarf, smiling. “Sasha!” he called, waving enthusiastically when she turned around. She waved in return, picking up her bag to join him.   
“Hi!” she greeted cheerily, grinning like she almost always was. She was so bright and warm, it was impossible not to like her. Sasha was very much a people person. She was kind to everyone, going out of her way or inconveniencing herself time and time again to help out anyone in need. She’d never been touted as very bright by anyone, and maybe it was true, she wasn’t booksmart, but with the affinity for people that she had, no one could deny her intelligence.   
In addition to knowing people in a way Armin couldn’t explain, she was extremely cute. Very proper in her manner of dressing, and just big enough to fill out his blouses, she was round and soft. She had long, wavy auburn hair that she almost always kept tied up out of her face, showing off her round, rosy cheeks. If Armin hadn’t known she was off limits, he would have asked her out the first week they’d met.   
Instead, he kept the idea to himself, valuing her friendship more than anything. “Hey,” he greeted in return, giving her a warm smile.   
“Here to watch?”  
“Here to watch,” he affirmed. “For Reiner, so we can go directly home and study.”  
“I’m here for Connie,” she shrugged, referring to her boyfriend. They made quite the mischievous duo, always up to something or another, senses of humor perfectly aligned.   
Armin nodded thoughtfully. “Point him out to me,” he suggested as the players, dressed in thick tracksuits under their gear to keep warm began to file onto the field. A few of them passed balls back and forth, or joked loudly, the rumble of their noise reaching the stands. A few of them aggressively bumped shoulders, competing in small arguments to bide their time.   
She pointed out a short, positively tiny boy, helmet tucked under his arm, chatting to someone Armin immediately recognized as Reiner, the large sixty six on his jersey familiar from his letterman jacket that he’d given to Armin as a blanket when he’d gotten shoved into the locker earlier in February. Reiner already had his helmet on, but Armin saw him smile and wave when Sasha hollered for Connie, waving, and Reiner had looked up, too. The older waved, and Armin hesitantly waved back. “Sasha. Your boyfriend is really short,” he snickered, teasing her.   
She nudged him sharply in the ribs with her elbow. “Like you’re a giant, Armin!” she replied, giggling, too.   
“I’ve got to be taller than he is. He’s older than you, right? And you’re how much taller? I mean, you’re taller than me, and if I’m taller than him,” he whistled, carrying the joke. She just elbowed him again, and after a few minutes of quiet conversation, absentmindedly watching the team warming up, Armin drifted into his own thoughts. After a while, it finally occurred to him that on Valentine’s day, it wasn’t Sasha who had left him the candies. It was Reiner. He blushed darkly, thankful it was cold enough to use the wind as an excuse to his red cheeks. He pieced things together. Reiner knew where his locker was. He knew the combination, or at least he could have, after all the times he’d seen Armin open in. He knew cinnamon hearts were Armin’s favorites, when they’d stopped to get snacks for studying, and Armin had passed a rack of the small boxes, eagerly picking a couple of them up to stash away. Reiner had teased him about it when they were gone at the end of the study session. Sasha knew his locker combination. In comparison to the evidence suggesting the brawny blond, that was nothing. He decided to ask.   
“Sasha?” he murmured.   
She tore her eyes away from the players, practicing passing drills now, to look up at him questioningly. “Mhm?”  
“On Valentine’s day, did you leave a box of cinnamon hearts in my locker?”  
Her questioning look intensified. “Why would I have done that?”  
“I don’t know. Someone did it. I just wanted to make sure and thank you if it was you.”  
“To be truthful, Armin, I’d probably eat them before I could even get them to you, if I had done it.”  
Armin snickered. “Alright. Thanks, thought.”

Within the hour, the boys were tired out, and it was beginning to get dark and cold, so the coach, a tall man named Erwin Smith, dismissed them, reminding them that there were no more practices for the week because of the predicted weather.   
Reiner met Armin outside of the locker rooms, hair wet, shrugging his bag over his shoulder, fingers hooked into the grate of his helmet. “Ready?”  
Armin nodded, and off they went towards the student parking lot and Reiner’s truck.   
Back at Armin’s, his grandfather insisted on inviting the older to dinner, and he hesitantly agreed, much to Armin’s mortification. After the realization that Reiner had left the candy in his locker, he was feeling very shy, and spoke little, blushing a lot. It was a difficult night of studying, but in Armin’s silence, Reiner found focus, and they got a lot done. The younger was sure, by the end of the night, that his companion would be ready for the test on Tuesday, having answered all but two of his questions perfectly, and when corrected, was able to explain why it was wrong. Armin rewarded him with a smile. He may have been a little reserved that night, but he was proud, and there was no hiding that. He couldn’t, however, tell if he was proud of his own teacher skills, or his student. Either way, he felt warm and filled up with an odd feeling from his head to his toes.   
When Armin congratulated him in words, he witnessed something incredible. Reiner blushed.   
“I, er, I didn’t mea- I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” he stammered, “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”  
Reiner nodded. “Nah. ‘S’not you, I just… I’m glad I got the help, but it was real tough for me to admit to needin’ it. All my life, I got teased ‘cause I wasn’t real good in school. I didn’t even go ta school until I was six, and even then, it was only ‘cause my momma made my father promise when I was born that I’d get a real education. I couldn’t read or write until I was nearly nine, since I never learned at home. Momma tried to teach me, but my father jus’ didn’t want me to learn. Wanted me to take over the farm. ‘Cause of that, I tried to hide how bad my grades were, but kids always found out and teased me for it… Even now, my grades ain’t very good, and add in that money’s a little tight, and football is really the only way I can get an education, yanno? And to stay on the team, ya gotta keep yer marks up.”  
Armin nodded, understanding. “That’s why I’m here. But Reiner- you’re a smart guy. You could do just fine without me. You’ve been doing fine without a lot of my help. You just told me where you made your mistakes. I didn’t point them out, you told me. You understand. It’s just lonely to learn by yourself.”  
“You’ve been teachin’ me a lot, though,” Reiner pointed out.   
“And you’ve been teaching me a lot.”  
The taller pushed his chair away from the table where they sat a little, looking surprised.   
“Don’t look so surprised, Reiner. It might not be school learning that you’re teaching, but books aren’t everything… You’ve taught me a lot about being true to myself. For standing up for myself. That it’s okay to ask for help when you need it,” he was blushing as he spoke, “that it’s not shameful to need direction at all. You’ve taught me a lot about myself,” he added, feeling his cheeks heat up even more. “So, stop underestimating yourself. There’s more to life than grades and school and textbooks. Thank you for teaching me that.”  
Reiner pushed his chair back and left the room, leaving Armin feeling the pride he’d just experienced over his own words quickly drain from him. He didn’t call out after him. He didn’t chase him. He just awkwardly straightened his books, trying not to cry, wondering what he’d said wrong. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut.  
He never kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t good at it. Of course, eventually, he became quite good at it, never speaking much, not becoming invested in his friends, because he always messed it up…  
Armin’s thoughts were interrupted by Reiner, drying his face on his sleeve. His eyes were a little red, and it took a lot for Armin to speak up, having forgotten how. “You okay?” he prodded gently. “Did I say something wrong?”  
“Ya didn’t say nothin’ wrong,” he insisted, offering a small smile, “and I will be okay.”  
“You sure?”  
“Yeah. But don’t tell anyone about that. Ain’t no one s’posed to know I cried,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood. It worked, and Armin smiled.   
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he recited in a promise.   
The night ended on that note, Reiner checking the time and deciding he really needed to be home soon. His father would throw a fit, he joked, gathering up his books and thanking both Armin for the help and his grandfather for the meal before heading out the side door to his truck, parked in the driveway rather than in the street. Once he’d seen Reiner back out and take off down the street, he was feeling a little lonely. He’d broken the odd spell between them regarding the candy, only to make the atmosphere tense and electric, as though a fuse might blow any second. He didn’t know what to do now. Pick up his books, make some tea. Go to his room and read, clean? It was too dark and too cold for a walk, now, but even in his warm, comfortable house, standing by the fireplace in the front room, he felt emptiness swallowing him, with no light to guide him out. What was it keeping that feeling at bay the rest of the day? What was the light that shone to show him a way out, to save him from this feeling of drowning?   
There was only one answer, and it made the petit blond uncomfortable to admit.   
Sasha didn’t make him feel safe and full of things he’d never felt before. Nor did Eren, or Mikasa.   
It was Reiner.


	4. A Break in Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin is feeling their friendship on the line, and the line is slowly fraying, but not without help. It takes an incident between he and his grandfather that leaves him with no place to stay for him to realize that instead of picking at the tie holding them together, he should be trying to mend the fraying ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, here is this thing. Enjoy my bullshit, I'm so sorry.

After the realization that Reiner was what kept Armin from feigning sick to avoid school, and kept him busy on most week days, it became evident to the younger blond that he needed to be more prudent around Reiner. He distanced himself some; still trying to laugh at his jokes and enjoy his company, but holding him at arm's length to watch his words, watch his actions, watch his emotions. When Reiner pulled up beside Armin as he left the student parking lot, without Sasha for once, drenched by melting snow coating him after a heavy snowfall, the older teen leaned over to unlock his door, frowning. "Who did tha'?" he asked, gesturing to Armin's eye, blackened by one of Annie's fists, a small cut marring his eyebrow from her signet graduation ring.   
"I was trying to open a package and my hand slipped. I punched myself in the face," he offered, along with a forced laugh.   
Reiner's thick eyebrows furrowed more. "Bullshit."  
"No bullshit involved."  
The older looked at Armin for a minute while his friend avoided eye contact before pulling away from the side of the road and doing a u-turn out of the one way street.   
Armin didn't want Reiner to fight for him. He wanted to take the responsibility for himself, as much as he appreciated the threat of his friend's force standing behind him. He wanted to fight his own battles. Reiner stepping in had just worsened the teasing. Now Annie and her gang just waited until he was alone. It was hell, but he would gladly sacrifice peace for whatever revenge Reiner was inflicting.   
It went on like this as the weather warmed. Reiner questioning and Armin silent, brushing him off. Soon, all the snow was gone, and the streets were relatively dry. Kids played outside more often, and with less clothing to restrict their movement. Soon, residential streets were filled with primitive art retelling the stories of their adventures. Main street was bombarded by gangs of reckless bicyclers, taking over the sidewalks, laughing raucously as they raced each other up and down the streets, turning pedestrians around in their tracks as the passed blindingly fast. It was nearly impossible not to be uplifted by their happiness, but still, once the gaggles of whispering, gossiping girls had passed, Armin felt his borrowed happiness leak out of him like he had a puncture in the loving vessel of his heart.   
He hadn't quite felt right, hadn't quite been sleeping right for the past few months. March, April, May, bordering June and finals. Studying became more intense, which didn't help the taut relationship, on the verge of stretched thin between Reiner and Armin. He felt useless. Reiner had rushed past his teachings without needing any help. Mostly, he just sat by, doing his own work, feeling lonely despite the company of his friends. It was perfect, save for that and a few other things...   
Over the March break, studying for some heavy testing and the introduction of a new unit into their match class, Reiner had invited Armin over to his house. It was a small, wind-beaten farm house, white washed and peeling, the shaky at best looking barn looming over the back pastures ominously. They were sitting at the kitchen table, spread with books and papers when Mr. Braun walked in. He was a tall man, like his son. It was obvious how much Reiner took after him, save for his father's volume, his beer gut, and the intensity of his temper. Reiner had a quick temper, but not like his father. Apparently, he travelled for work, shipping things from one state to the next on the back of his Chevy, leaving Reiner home to look after the small farm, school, football, and work. Most of Mr. Braun's money was likely squandered on the contents of the brown paper bag and the wooden box he carried. When Reiner had asked him if he'd gotten any groceries, Mr. Braun exploded. He called his son a variety of names Armin had never even heard before. He called him weak, ungrateful, and a failure, amongst other things. At one point, Armin heard Mr. Braun spit out that he was glad Reiner's mother was dead, so she didn't have to deal with her son's actions and inactions. As he yelled at Reiner, Armin gathered the books, watching Reiner clentch and unclentch his fist and the tangible danger in the room. Reiner sat there and took it, never opening his mouth.   
Armin stood, reached out to touch Reiner's arm, and waited until he stood, too, picking up his books. Without a word, they left the kitchen, Mr. Braun's shouting following them. He grabbed at Reiner's shirt, but Reiner shrugged him off, slamming the screen door of the sun porch behind them. Armin was sure he heard it splinter.   
Braun Senior followed them, slamming the door again, and shifted on it's hinges, coming loose as he pursued them. He threatened to change the locks, to burn Reiner's things, to kill the little orange tabby cat Reiner called his own, but the teen stayed strong, and got calmly into the truck, followed by Armin, taking off down the driveway, showering his screaming father in a cloud of dust.   
Reiner cried back at Armin's, locked in the guest room. He stayed for three days before his father was clear of the town and he could go home.   
Armin felt helpless.  
After that, the blond pushed himself to the absolute limit, rocketing past everyone's expectations.  
May was warm, thank the dear lord. Armin walked to and from school with Sasha, unless it rained, in which cases Reiner always managed to show up moments before he left, eventually perfecting his timing after he'd missed him and picked him up halfway along the road the first few times. Their conversations with quieter, less personal, shorter...   
Armin had no idea how to resolve this. They barely studied together anymore. Reiner had a grip on his grades, so the younger had no excuse to show up and talk. He felt their friendship teetering on the edge of a cliff, Armin hanging over the edge, standing on a board, and Reiner on the other end, cautiously stepping on and off of the board with one foot, unsure of whether to support it and let Armin crawl back to solid ground of whether to let it go. Sometimes, Armin stood on the board.   
He hurt, and he didn't know how to stop it. His own grades began to slip. He went home and slept instead of doing his homework, since he often woke up in the middle of the night, unable to get back to sleep. It was impossible, too tired to do the work he owed, and too awake to even drift off. He found himself sitting up and waiting for his alarm clock to go off. The tension between he and his grandfather grew, just like it did between he and any of his other friends. They bickered and fought much more often.  
Armin was almost relieved to find himself, sobbing as he walked down the old main road, away from home. He and his grandfather had fought, but not like ever before. Armin had thrown a book at Mr. Arlert. He felt all the anger and fear and tightness leave him as he yelled and screamed about how Mr. Arlert had had no choice but to take him in, how no one wanted him. He hated him, as far as he was concerned. Resented having to support him. resented having to move to expand their business. It had been a long, angry, and loud fight, full of passion and released emotions neither knew they'd been holding back. Thank god it was warm, Armin thought for the second time that day, wrapped only in a thin cardigan. Thank god it was warm, he swore again as thunder cracked overhead and the rain began to pour. That was when he found himself crying, his fear of the storm pushing him to his absolute limit, making him let go of the desperate, animal like crying he never knew he had in him. It was so raw, and took so much out of him to cry, he sat on the side of the road to wait for the tears to subside.   
Eventually, he got up and trudged on, destination finally in mind. Reiner's house couldn't be too far from here, could it? Armin had only to hope his friend's father wasn't home. He already felt terrible and guilty, praying that Reiner didn't feel like Armin was only being close with him for need of a place to be.   
It took three hours of pouring rain to get there, but he was unbelievably relieved to find the living room light of the Braun house on. He splashed up the dirt driveway and to the back porch door, patched where it had hung from it's hinges, Armin remarked as he knocked timidly.   
There was a bustling, and he knocked again, seeing Reiner's tall shape block out the light on the other side of the inside door's curtains. As soon as the older was through the door and saw Armin outside, he rushed to open the sun porch door, pulling him inside. "Armin! What're ya doin' here this time a night?"  
"I need someplace to stay... Can you keep me? Just for the night?"  
Reiner nodded. "Ma father left today, yer lucky. Now get in here before ya freeze ta death. How long you been out there?"  
"I walked from home," he explained, shuddering in his soaked clothing, "got in a fight with my grandfather. I couldn't take it, so I left..."  
Reiner nodded again. As much as he had progressed, he was still a man of few words. "Go sit. Ai'll get ya some dry clothes."  
Armin did as he was told, taking his shoes off and heading for the living room, where he sat on the couch, curled up a little to keep warm. The older blond brushed past him to take the stairs to the small second floor. Armin never remarked when he came back down, because he fell asleep before he did, chin on his chest and arms drawn around himself. He drifted in and out of sleep through the night, each time remarking something small. He was warm, and no longer wet. His throat hurt. He'd been laid down, now facing the squished plush back of the couch. It smelled like Reiner's jacket. Leather and woodsmoke and that odd, curling smell that he could only define as Reiner. There were hints of whiskey, too, surely his friend's father's signature.   
When he last woke up, he saw said friend, sprawled out over the wing backed chair lamp on and television turned low. He snored, and Armin thought he might have been seeing drool, too. Sleepily examining him, he dragged his eyes from his mussed up hair and sleeping face to his chest, his stomach, where his muscle shirt had ridden up a little to reveal his skin, and to his lap, blanket draped acrossed his legs, but slipping. He blushed when he realized Reiner was only in boxers. That was the thought that really woke him up. That he found the sight of his sleeping friend in only his underwear quite attractive. He'd been thinking it for months. About the way he watched Reiner, what he made him feel. Even in comparison to Sasha, who he'd admittedly had a few thoughts about before, Reiner was pure gold. He didn't want to admit it to himself, though. He didn't want to admit to the fact that Reiner was often a go to for him when no other fantasy worked. He hoped it was just his personality, the connection they'd made over the span of their tutoring work, but now, in Reiner's small living room at what was likely too early in the morning to really think right anyways, he thought it. He whispered it to himself. Felt blood rush to his cheeks. In that moment, the room warm, cozy, friendly and lit only by a small lamp and the low light of the television, Armin Arlert accepted his fate. He was gay.   
Maybe.  
Probably.  
Definitely.  
Mortified by his own thoughts, he tugged the blankets Reiner had given him tighter around his shoulders, took a long, deep breath, exhaled, and closed his eyes, hoping that it was all a dream, and that if he fell back asleep, he might wake up for real.   
He did fall asleep. And he did wake up. But he was certainly still in the real world, woken by his own urge to sneeze. And sneeze. And sneeze. He tried to hold it back, hoping the noise wouldn't wake his host, but looking to his chair, he found the older already up, folding a laundry basket full of clothes in the same thing he'd been wearing to sleep in. A muscle shirt and boxers, crew socks slipping on his calves. He was quite the picture.   
Armin mumbled between sneezes to ask if they had any kleenex, and a box was quickly fished from where it sat on the stairs, placed in front of him.  
When the sneezes subsided, Reiner nodded at him. "Ya always strip in yer sleep?"  
The younger looked down to his bare stomach, and blushing like a fool, pulled the blankets tightly around himself. "N-no..."  
"Ya musta been warm under all them blankets and in tha sweater ya had on."  
"I didn't have a sweater."  
"You fell asleep before I could give ya dry clothes, so I dressed ya. Hope ya don' mind."  
Feeling his heart beat speed up at the thought, the younger just nodded absently. "Not really..."  
"Want some breakfast?"  
When Armin nodded, Reiner went to the kitchen, abondoning his folding. He could hear the pan being shifted on the burner, smell the eggs, hear them sizzling. The smell of toast burning in the oven and his friend swearing startled Armin, who felt like he was hearing and seeing through a haze. He didn't call out to see if Reiner was okay, but got up, searching for the sweater he'd supposedly been wearing amongst the blankets to pull it on and investigate the noise.   
In the kitchen, a cold breeze floated in through a window and light smoke flowed down from it's resting place near the cieling to leave the room. In the sink sat two pieces of burnt toast, now soggy after being extinguished. "Sorry," Reiner grunted when he noticed Armin, who took up roost in one of the mismatched chairs, where he always sat.   
"Thank you for making me breakfast."  
"It's no problem. I burnt the toast, but I promise, the eggs'll be okay," he assured, placing the pan back on the burner to finish cooking them.  
"Do you need any help?"  
"You just rest. You look awful."  
"I feel awful."  
"You gonna stay home today?"  
Armin thought. "I don't want to be an intrusion."  
"If yer gonna stay, so'm I. You don' wanna be all alone when yer sick."  
"Then I'll stay," he agreed hesitantly, "but only if you're sure."  
"I'm sure."  
After that, they fell quiet, Armin eating while Reiner made them more toast, this time not burning it.  
The meal passed quietly, but spreading jam on his toast, Armin's eyes began to droop, and his head began to nod.   
"Armin."  
"Mhm?" He sat back up straight, looking to his friend.   
"Finish up, now, and go back to sleep. Yer fallin' asleep sitting up, and ya got a knife in yer hand, and that ain't no good."  
He nodded slowly and put the knife down, lazily eating the piece of toast, now cold. As soon as it was gone, so were his plate and glass, replacing the burnt toast in the sink.  
"C'mon, now."  
His chair was pulled back, and he was helped to his feet. "Yer not walking anywhere," Reiner announced, looking him over before he bent down and scooped him up, bridal style.   
Armin was sure he squeaked, but it was lost as he clung to Reiner tightly. "I won' drop ya," he promised with a chuckle, taking him to the living room, grabbing the quilt he'd been wrapped in on the way. They made it upstairs, shuffling sideways through the door to fit. Reiner turned back the sheets of his bed, holding Armin in one arm, circled around him, but when he tried to put him down on the bed, Armin clung tighter, barely awake.   
"Don't go. You're warm."  
The older just chuckled and pulled him away to lay him down. "Okay, I'll stay."  
And he did, Armin scooting over to make room for him. Reiner sat up, though, Armin laying down, curled up as Reiner covered him in both the sheets and the two quilts. While the young blond drifted in and out of sleep, he tossed and turned, sometimes looking up at Reiner to find him reading, writing, sometimes gone. Sometime in the day, Reiner left and brought him up a bowl of soup, making him sit up and eat until he started to drift off again, when he took the bowl before it could be spilled.   
Two days passed like this. On the third day, Armin stayed awake the whole day. On the fourth, he got out of bed and helped Reiner out. On the fifth, when Reiner went out back after supper, as he always seemed to, Armin followed him.   
"Where are you going?" he asked curiously through the rolled down window of the Ford.   
Reiner shrugged. "Just onto the field."  
"You do this every night."  
"I do."  
"Can I come?"  
Reiner grunted and jabbed his thumb towards the passenger side. "Get in."  
The truck trundeled down the dirt roads weaving through the farm, down hill below the barn and house and pasture, to another lower, cooler and more open one. Trees lined the hill, hiding the house and road from view, but not from hearing. Reiner pulled out into the middle of the field and parked, cutting the engine before getting out. Armin followed on instinct, shutting the passenger door quietly as he watched Reiner drop the tailgate and climb into the back of the truck. The same action took the younger boy much longer, but he finally made it, sitting in the bed and scooting back so he was seated next to Reiner, backs pressed against the back window of the cab. The smaller blond drew his knees up to his chest with a heavy sigh. It was chilly, and he regretted having only worn jeans and a light shirt with the cardigan he'd shown up in.   
A silent half hour passed until he got the guts to speak up. Reiner was leaned back, looking up at the stars as they emerged overhead. "Do you know the constellations?" he asked, trying to make conversation.   
"Sure do."  
"I don't."  
Another few minutes passed, Reiner missing his friend's invitation to point them out, but finally, he leaned over, pointing at a short line of stars. "See them three? All lined up, right?"  
"Yeah?"  
"That right there is Orion's belt. If ya look, you can find the rest a him and his sword, see?" he repeated, pointing out the outline of the warrior.  
Armin knew the constellations, but not as well as Reiner. As darkness fell with the temperature, and the wind rose, he pointed out a good fifty constellations and stars, naming them off the top of his head. Armin was earnestly intrigued, nodded even if he didn't see, trying to pull the same patterns from the sky. But the activity didn't keep him warm. He found himself shivering, curled up tight as he listened to his friend explain how farmers used the stars. Without warning, the bulkier between them pushed open the window to the cab and reached in, pulling out his letterman jacket from the back seat and shoving it towards Armin. "Don' be such a baby," he sputtered, shoving the jacket at him again when he hadn't taken it.  
Despite the flush of his cheeks, Armin took the jacket and pulled it on, practically able to cuddle up inside of it. It even smelled good. Like Reiner. Like leather and woodsmoke and sweat.   
He loved it.  
At the end of the night, when they got back inside, Reiner insisted that he keep it, scurrying off to his room with a quick goodnight. His behaviour was puzzling, but as Armin went to the living room, where he'd taken up roost on the couch, he saw, on his borrowed pillow, perched a box of cinnamon hearts.   
He swallowed thickly, feeling his heart beat steadily increase. He couldn't do anything but stand there for a good few minutes, until he got the strength to sit down, tuck the box under the coffee table for safe keeping, and curl up for bed.


	5. A Sight Unfit of Being Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days, two people, two stories, two fears, two kisses and a spying neighbour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This is shit. I rewrote it at least twice. Very sorry.

The rest of the time they spent together passed quietly and quickly. Soon, three days were crossed off the calender in which Armin learned a lot about Reiner and his house hold. How Reiner's little sister had been diagnosed with childhood sickness and had died when she was just a little girl, and how his mother had followed soon after, struck dead of a broken heart. It was never clear whether she had a hand in her death or not, but with her died any sense of familial peace. Mr. Braun grew vicious, lashing out at his son when things didn't go his way, forcing work on him that a young teen never should have had to shoulder, often making him miss school and fall behind. His father took a road job and became a drunk and a snoop. He often came home staggering and slurring his words unintelligibly, holding something of Reiner's and angrily questioning him about it time and time again. Sometimes he found things missing with no explanation, and even money on occasion. It was a few dollars here and there, sure, but that was grocery money, most of the time. Reiner didn't dare confront his father on the matter, though, already over-burdened by the work load he had and the memory of the last time he'd stood up to his father.  
 Mr. Braun forced Reiner to not only do the house and farm work, but on one occasion, as punishment for defying him and refusing to work, had harnessed him to the plough and made him plough the field. He collapsed three and a half rows in, but his father remained merciless in blaming him for all the family hardship. Soon after, he got a job to not only replace what income his father spent on booze, but to escape the house on every possible occasion.  
When he hit high school, he joined football, like he had always wanted to, begging and borrowing, doing favours to cover the entry fee. He'd dreamt of it since he was young, inspired by his father, and despite the way he was treated at home, that inspiration never faded. He felt powerful on the field where he had never had at home. The sport was his escape from the real world. He became the best defensive line-man Trost had ever seen, which he confided in Armin was because he envisioned every offensive player as his father.  
 These conversations passed in the quiet and dark of the evening, when there was only the sound of the fire and Armin's breathing behind Reiner's voice. He didn't dare reply to the stories, a mute listener to his hardships. He didn't comfort him besides to share his own story on the third and last night of staying with his friend.  
 Armin had lived in Maine all his life, in a small coastal town where he knew everyone. He lived with his mother and father in a small second story flat over a little tailor's shop. It was perfect, quiet and quaint. Maybe a little dark. His memories of childhood remained stormy and overcast, like dark, weathered wood furnishings and shingles that decorated the house-turned-shop, the paint long since twisted and wrenched from the wood by the sea spray and the wind that carried it to the shore. They lived comfortably on the fish his father brought home and the money his mother brought in from quilting, tailoring and baking for the diner. But everything turned around for him when his mother's best friend died a few towns over. The funeral arrangements were made quickly, and of course, his parents were to attend. They left despite the storm brewing and sail boats drawing in their sails and battening down their hatches in the port. They'd be home as soon as they could, they had promised him. Only a while, they'd said.  
 He could remember sitting in his bedroom window, then the front room's cushioned window seat, restlessly moving around the house from window to window and back as he listened to the wind rise and the rain spatter angrily against the windows and wooden siding like tiny daggers. The neighbour who was watching him made him dinner, but he could barely eat it, picking at his potatoes anxiously. His stomach churned. The gears in his mind turned.  
 Storms had always made him nervous.  
 In the morning, having finally fallen asleep sometime in the night after sneaking to the living room's window seat, he was given a reason to.  
On their way home to him after the service, their car had hydroplaned. Skidded across the highway. Miraculously, they avoided other cars, but they failed to escape a pothole in the asphalt. Hit the hole and rolled once, rolled twice, right off the side of the road and into a tree. Both of them had been killed on the first roll, the roof of the car stripped away like the top of a can of sardines as they skidded into the second roll. Armin could heard the metal ripping and grinding against the pavement as he told the story. Even though the sound was imagined, it had stuck in his head, and he replayed it daily in his mind.  
 He was too young to really understand what was going on at the time, though. He just remembered crying and crying and crying, passed from home to home as someone tried to contact any of his extended family. Anyone who would take him. The neighbours and friends were kind, and spoiled him, but no matter how good the food or how comfortable the bed, nor how many plush animals were stuffed into his arms to try and calm his wailing, all he wanted was his parents.  
 Eventually, he landed in his paternal grandfather's hands. He'd met him maybe once, as an even smaller child. He remembered the feeling of his hands, rough and worn, but soft with polish that had soaked into his skin. He remembered being comforted by the smell of silver and brass on those hands, gently thumbing away his tears or patiently holding him while he threw a tantrum, which was often. He remembered being tucked into a big bed every night when he'd finally worn himself out crying. It took years for him to grow into the size of the mattress, and each year that he took up a little more space in his bed, his parents took up a little less in his mind. Eventually, he could barely remember his mother's face, save for how she smiled, reminded by the few photographs they'd had.  
 Sharing their stories in the dark of the living room quickly tightened their bond, beginning to mend the ties Armin had forced to fray in his anxiety. Silence filled the room like the warmth of the fire, the smoke and the words billowing from the chimney into the warm, cloudless May night. For once, the television hadn't lit the room, muted, but a saviour to them both should talking halt. All they needed was one another, though, the television was never turned to, listening and speaking in tandem about themselves.  
 The earth had soaked up the rain and the sun shone between the few fluffy white clouds that crossed the sky. Spring was truly in the air the next morning when Reiner drove Armin home, pulling up in front of the house and cutting the engine, the heavy purr of the old truck quickly dying.  
"Do you wan' me there when you talk ta him?" the older asked, noting his friend's hesitancy to open the door fully.  
Armin sighed and closed the door the little that he had opened it. "No. That's okay. He seemed alright when I talked to him on the phone... I just have something to say. And something to ask?"  
Running a hand through his hair, which had been growing out for far too long, Reiner nodded. "Shoot, kiddo."  
 "I'm not 'kiddo'," he corrected quietly, trailing off. He cleared his throat, and despite the dryness of it, looked up to Reiner and spoke up. "Did you leave that box of candy in my locker?"  
He didn't specify when, but his tall companion nodded slowly, immediately knowing he'd been caught. "Yeah."  
 "Why?"  
Reiner just shrugged. "You're my friend."  
 Armin thought on it momentarily. "You do things for me a lot."  
"I don', really."  
 "You do. You always drive me around, and you just took care of me for a good number of days, and look, I have your jacket and another box of candy and I'm wearing your clothes. And not to mention you defend me and stand up for me when people pick on me. You're a big softie for that mean exterior," he half-teased, trying to lighten the mood.  
 Reiner just grunted, tense expression softening for only a moment before returning to his normal concerned face. "Truth?"  
"What do you mean?"  
 "Do you want the truth?"  
"Of course I want the truth. That's why I'm asking."  
 Reiner took a deep breath and sat back in his seat, sighing loudly. "Yer gonna hate me."  
"I will not."  
 "You will," he insisted, and a short silence passed between them until the younger spoke again, softer, trying to calm his own panic. He could feel that warmth welling in his stomach and his heart beat felt as though it were pounding through his chest. How cliché, he thought, suppressing his chuckle of derision.  
 "Reiner, no matter what you say, I promise nothing will change. Pinky swear if I've got to for you to believe me. Cross my heart and hope to die."  
The silence fell over them again, the cab of the truck suddenly feeling very small, but Armin didn't move to shift his arm from where it brushed against Reiner's.  
 The older teen struggled to find his words, sinking into his seat a little. He was mortified.  
"Armin."  
 "Mhm?"  
"You know why Annie hates me so much?"  
 "You never told me."  
"Way back when, we were were together, erm, you know, goin' steady and the whole bit, I, um. I cheated on her."  
 Armin's silence spoke of his shock and disappointment in his friend, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly agape.  
"Well, now, don't give me that look 'til I'm done, alright? Then you can hit me or somethin', okay?"  
 The younger let out a little puff of air, signalling for him to continue.  
"Okay, well. Here goes nothing," his voice fell quiet, barely above a whisper, but there was no struggle to hear him, "I cheated on her with a guy... And she found us together."  
 At that, Armin was even more shocked. "A guy?"  
Reiner nodded, covering his eyes with his hands, rubbing at them with the heels of his hands. His cheeks were red to match his ear and neck, and Armin didn't press him to move his hands, though he wanted to.  
"I know. I'm disgustin', right? I can't believe I'm tellin' you this. You gotta promise me you won't tell no one. My whole future is on the line right now, okay? She's got this thing where she's threatening to tell my coach, and well, you can imagine how well that would go over... I don't need you hanging it over my head, too, when I already owe you so much."  
 "You don't owe me anything, Reiner," Armin spoke up, clearing his throat again. "And I don't hate you, or think you're disgusting. Trust me, I don't think I'm capable of thinking that... Don't worry. You have my word that I won't say anything, either, okay?"  
 The older teen nodded slowly and pulled his hands away from his eyes, and it looked like he'd been on the brink of crying. "Annie told my father what happened. That she, like, caught me and this guy together, right? And he, erm... He told me to either beat the shit out of him or he'd kill him himself. That he wouldn't have his son tempted by a faggot or some bullshit like that. So I had to call him o-over, and," he paused to catch his breath, coming fast as he started to cry, "I had to call him over and my father stood there and made me beat the shit out of him... That god-damned ass wanted me to leave him out there in the field to fuckin' die 'like the scum he was'!"  
He punctuated the statement by slamming on the horn, which gave a short, sharp honk, the neighbour watering his daffodils looking over to the truck, though neither of them even noticed her presence.  
 Reiner was full out crying now, tears running down his ruddy, tanned cheeks. The sort of tan that follows a nasty burn. "I waited until my father left, and I got him right the hell out of there. Took him to the hospital, but when his parents showed up... I couldn't stay. I told them what happened and they wouldn't let me. Marco wanted me to. He really got it, you know? He really understood that it was what I'd done or the end of the line for him. But they wouldn't let me stay. And that was the last time I saw him. They moved him away from here. We wrote for a while, but they kept findin' our letters, and we had to stop. And that's it. That's the end of the story. If you don't think I'm disgusting now... I don't know. I think you should go inside now, Armin."  
 The younger just shook his head. "I think you did what you had to do... I mean, between death and getting a beating, I'd choose a beating... But there's something else."  
"Ain't nothin' else, please go."  
 "I'm not going until I'm done."  
"Please."  
 "No."  
Reiner didn't fight back, and Armin turned more towards him in the seat, shifting himself to be able to face his friend.  
 "How did you know you were, well, you know. Homosexual? How did you know?"  
"I-I don't know. I just knew. Marco was just the one for me, and it didn't matter that he was a guy. Is a guy. I don't know. I just knew," he repeated.  
 "So you just knew..." Armin pondered.  
"Just knew."  
 "Reiner?"  
"Huh?" he grunted.  
 "Were the candies because you like me?"  
"Yup," he admitted quietly. Armin wasn't aware Reiner was capable of being so quiet.  
 "Another thing, now. Last one, I promise."  
"Yeah?"  
 "Yeah," he repeated. It seemed like they were chasing each other in loops, but Armin couldn't help it, palms sweating because he was so nervous. He could feel his ears and cheeks, hot and likely red as a tomato. He leaned over the shift and placed a quick, chaste kiss on his friend's bottom lip, missing the slightest bit because he was so damn nervous. The miss made him blush even darker and quickly sit back from where he'd leaned over, opening the door, but  Reiner reached over him and pulled it shut again in one swift motion, returning another kiss to Armin, properly aimed and lingering.  
The neighbour looked over at an opportune time, but neither paid her any mind.  
 When the older pulled away, he smiled and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Thank you."  
"I think I might be gay," Armin blurted, and Reiner laughed.  
 "No?"  
"Yes."  
 Both of them chuckled nervously, and Armin opened the door, this time, unstopped.  
He could feel his lips tingling.  
 "Thank you, Reiner."  
"Yer very welcome, kiddo."  
 Armin left without correcting him. No reprimand, just a small wave and smile.  
The mirrors clattered rhythmically with the roar of the engine coming to life, and that sound was the music that guided his feet to the stairs of his front door. The truck did not move until he was in the front door, pressed against the wall. He didn't hear the crunch of gravel until he felt like crying with relief. He had left the cab of the vehicle, but it hadn't left him, still shrouded in a little cloud of bliss. His first kiss. His first kiss with a man. With someone he'd been thinking about covertly, or without even realizing, since February. He felt like screaming, but instead, he slumped down against the wall, hugging himself tightly and grinning like a fool.  
His grandfather found him like that in the den. He wasn't half as angry as he might have been. Er, he was angry, but he wasn't full of rage, he didn't shout, he didn't point and jab and accuse like Armin thought he might. But then, he should have known the old man better. His anger was soft spoken. It was his heart that was loud.  
 Later that night, he sat in his room, grounded there for the next week. He had time to think. Time to study, but that was the last thing on his mind. The first was his grandfather and the lack of relief from worry Armin had felt radiating off him. The second was Reiner and how he felt about the older, but over the last few weeks, that had been at the back of his mind constantly anyway. So he stuck to his grandfather. Deal with the least complicated first.  
 And so he did. His grandfather had known he'd been at Reiner's. He suspected that he might, but how had he known for certain until Armin called him on that final night? He hadn't said where he was going. He hadn't shown up for school in three days. For all his grandfather had of known, he could have been dead in a ditch somewhere, hit by a car, mugged and murdered for the lack of bills in his pockets, or worse. God knows what happened in the streets and back alleys of this city at night.  
 Then it occurred to him. Reiner knew where he was, obviously. Reiner, who always worried about him, and his grandfather for that matter. He'd even driven them to his elderly caretaker's doctor's appointments and meetings a few times. He knew that the elder Arlert and his friend shared an odd kind of bond themselves. He suspected, upon remembering this, that Reiner might have called him. Or maybe his grandfather had called Reiner. Either way, the sense of betrayal he initially felt was quickly forgotten for the fuzzy feeling of being cared for that filled him, shapeless and warm.  
 He pulled Reiner's outgrown cardigan around him tighter, reveling in the feeling. Inhaling deeply, he remarked that it didn't smell like him, really. It smelled like pinewood and mothballs, like the chest it had been stored in. It smelled vaguely of apples and fall. Maybe the rich saffron colour was playing tricks on him, making him believe he was smelling fall because the colour reminded him so strongly of the season. Maybe that was just how Reiner used to smell, back before the seams had stretched too tightly across his shoulders, back before the sleeves had grown too short and tight on his well muscled arms. When had he grown up, anyway? At what point had Reiner gone from awkward, lanky teen to brawny, ready to work man? Had he even had a lanky phase? Had more pudge ever covered his stomach, or had he always been toned like he was now? Armin's mind's eye wandered from the small sliver of pale, taut stomach that was exposed when Reiner had stretched, standing in his living room in only boxers, socks and a wifebeater downwards along the dusting of equally pale strawberry blond hair to the the elastic waistband of his underwear...  
 Sometime, while thinking, Armin's eyes had slid shut. He sat criss-cross on his bed, slumped a little, but sat up straight when he realized that the path he was following, looking Braun up and down, was far from normal for him. And actually arousing him. As if to make it worse, the train of though began the kiss running through his head again and again, just as it had after the event. Sure, it was chaste and quick, in comparison to most kisses he'd seen, but it was a kiss none the less.  
 His body was trying to spite him, he could swear it... But it had been long enough that he gave into the temptation, getting up to turn off his lights before stripping out of his pants, leaving Reiner's cardigan draped, oversized, over his small frame.


End file.
